


For the Love of A Daughter

by Gecko_Bat



Category: Battlefield (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Grief, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 06:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gecko_Bat/pseuds/Gecko_Bat
Summary: Tombstone have survived a lot and have formed strong bonds because it, but when one of their team doesn't come home they have to explain why to his family. Told from Pac's point of view, this is what happened when they finally spoke to Dunn's family.





	For the Love of A Daughter

Pac swallowed thickly. He felt like an intruder. Irish and Recker had known Dunn a lot longer than he had; he’d only met his wife once, never even seen the daughter. He pulled the beanie from his head, scrunching it in his hands as he took in the pretty little suburban home, the white picket fence surrounding the front yard and the pick-up truck on the drive. He could imagine Dunn taking his time to plant the flowerbed with his wife, to chase his daughter round the lawn when she was younger…

“This is gonna kill Maria.” Irish muttered as Recker rang the bell. 

“It’ll kill both of them.” Recker grunted. The door opened and Pac could hear music from upstairs, a song he recognised because of how often Dunn played it. Foo Fighters. The woman who had opened the door was ageing gracefully, the only signs of her age being the crow’s feet by her eyes and the slight crinkles at the edges of her mouth. 

“Daniel! Irish! Clayton, right? Well, what a surprise! I didn’t think…think that…” her smile fell slowly, her voice tapering off weakly as she saw their solemn faces. Her eyes began to water, and she slowly stepped back from the door. “You…better come in.” she whispered, eyes portraying her grief as they silently stepped inside. Recker presented her with the neatly folded flag, and that was when she broke down completely. Usually the flag would be presented at Dunn’s funeral, but Pac knew Recker had sought special permission from Garrison and the other higher-ups to present it to the family in person. She sobbed freely into her hands, Dunn’s face staring out of various photographs and watching his wife from a far distant plane. The phone was ringing but nobody answered it just yet, Irish sitting beside her to rub her back gently. 

“I’m real sorry Maria.” He said quietly, “He saved our lives, gave his so we could escape with ours…if there’s anything we can do you just-“

“Mom! There’s a guy called Ricky on the phone from the roofing company!” the music had been turned down in favour of shouting down to her mother and Pac visibly flinched. Maria tried to take a breath, tried to fix herself up so she could call back, but all that came out was another choked sob. “Mom?” Footsteps on the stairs. Pac inhaled deeply as the girl appeared in the doorway. She took note of the three of them, her crying mother, and finally, the flag in her lap. She whimpered. “S-sorry, we’ll call you back.” She hung up quickly and put the phone down on the shelves beside the entryway. She looked so much like Dunn did it was almost painful, his dark mop of hair and big brown eyes resting neatly in her mother’s facial structure. She had almost crumpled right there in the doorway, staggering a little into the wall before she straightened herself out with a small gasp, barely holding herself together.

“Hey EJ.” Recker greeted her quietly, trying to step towards her. She stepped back, shaking her head. “EJ…” 

“No!” she exclaimed, tears beginning to fall. Pac hated watching the poor girl come undone like this. She was too young. 

“Ella, baby, please.” Maria tried, voice thick with grief as she tried to compose herself, “Come here baby.” 

“You’re lying! He s-s-said he’d be back, he promised! He promised!” she yelled, holding her arms around her waist and shaking from head to foot. Her face was scrunched in pain and Pac knew it well, knew the grief and the way it settled in your chest like a lead weight, drowning you slowly and crippling you with crushing pain as you were dragged deeper and deeper into an abyss you weren’t sure you could ever crawl out of again. 

“Ella.” Maria was sobbing again, unsure how to reach her daughter when she herself felt so lost and adrift on a sea of raw and turbulent emotion. Her words had left her. She had no idea how to comfort her daughter when the pain was so paralysing she could barely move herself. 

“EJ he’d have given anything to come home to you.” Recker assured her, “But he just couldn’t keep that promise this time.” 

“You’re a team! You’re all here! It’s not fair!” she wailed, “I hate you! I hate all of you!” she turned on her heel and ran, Maria crying harder and desperately wailing for her to come back. An upstairs door slammed, a few bangs and crashes as things were strewn about they guessed. The heavy atmosphere was almost choking him, and Pac hated seeing Irish and Recker looking as wrecked as they were. 

“Oh god…She’ll be okay Maria, it’ll take time but we’re gonna look out for you both.” Irish promised, sending a pained look towards Recker. Recker was staring at the photo across from him, Dunn smiling as he held his daughter on his shoulder. She was a lot younger here, maybe eight or nine with a gap in her brilliant grin and a soccer uniform on. He’d hoisted her into the air, beaming proudly as she held a trophy aloft, the same trophy that was kept polished and stood proudly beside the photograph. Recker and Irish stood in the background, thumbs up and smiling wide as Maria kept a firm grip on her daughter’s other side so she wouldn’t fall. Pac felt his heart ache, his chest throbbing. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, he’d been there before. The girl looked barely sixteen and would have to spend the rest of her life being told how amazing her father had been rather than seeing it for herself. Pac didn’t realise just how long his squad mates had known Dunn’s family, he couldn’t imagine how hard this was for him and he’d never felt more out of place anywhere. He had to do something, there had to be something he could do to help here, anything. 

“Mrs Dunn? May I speak to your daughter?” Pac asked quietly. Maria sniffled, staring blankly at the wall. 

“If she lets you.” She whispered. “What do I do Irish? How do I help her? How do I…how do we…” Pac gently took the flag from her lap, opening up the display case to remove the dog tag inside before he handed it back. Clutching the cold metal in his hand he ascended the stairs. Her door was easy to find, decorated with stickers and foam letters that spelled out her nickname. Pac knocked gently on the door, hearing her crying inside. She didn’t answer so he tried the handle, meeting resistance on the other side. 

“Go away!” she screamed into her pillow, her voice muffled but he heard her nonetheless. Pac tried the door again, using his shoulder to open it as far as he could so he could poke his head around. 

“Let me in Ella, please?” He requested. He dodged the teddy bear she sent sailing his way, pressed his back to the wooden door and rolled his eyes skyward, guilt pooling in his stomach. Dunn might still be here if they’d ignored his orders, tried that seat a little longer. Dunn, Hawkins, Hannah…god so many people had died for this. 

“I said go away!” she sobbed, “I don’t want to see you! I don’t want you here! I want my Dad!” Pac felt his heart break a little more and with renewed vigour he wedged his boot into the doorway, squeezing enough of himself through the gap to push the chest of drawers she’d hauled in front of the door away to let himself in. She had curled herself up on the bed, clutching at her duvet. Her face was buried in a tear-soaked pillow and Pac knew there was little he could say to console the girl, but he had to try. He owed it to Dunn to try. The metal was digging into his palms now as he clutched the dog tag tighter. Her room was fairly large, light and bright in pale blue and white, walls decorated in pictures and ribbons and shelves lined with trophies and books and CD’s, posters and stuffed animals and clothes strewn about. It was a typical teenage room now stained with her grief. 

“I didn’t serve under your Dad all that long, about a year.” He started, keeping his voice soft and quiet. She had stiffened slightly, sitting up to look up at him through red, watery eyes with so much hatred he almost flinched again. He held her gaze, letting his own grief show. “But he still gave his life for me, gave it for Recker, for Irish…” he trailed off, sighing slightly and hanging his head. “I wish I could take that back. More than anything, I wish we could go back and bring him home with us.” 

“You can’t.” she whispered, her eyes showing her agony. Pac nodded solemnly in agreement. 

“We can’t.” he confirmed softly. He wasn’t expecting her to lunge for him. He almost fell off of the chair he’d sat himself in at her desk, pushing to his feet and taking the hits she managed to land before he caught her fists and trapped her against his chest. She thrashed and sobbed and yelled at him to let her go but he remained firm, tears pricking his eyes that he had to blink back. Dunn had taught her well, his ribs aching slightly from her blows, but she wasn’t trained to his level and he held her fast until she collapsed into him and let him give her the comfort she needed. He gently guided her back to the bed, sitting with her on the edge of the mattress and simply holding her to him as she cried. 

“He p-promised me! He s-said he’d come home for my g-game.” She sobbed. Pac swallowed thickly. 

“I’m seeing a lot of trophies here. Soccer, gymnastic...some track to, right?” he asked her. She nodded into his shoulder, starting to calm down slowly it seemed. He kept his arm looped around her shoulder, looking over the walls and shelves that held her life, her father’s pride in every shining trophy she had. She had cried herself out it seemed, hiccupping herself into a more subdued state, looking defeated. He hoped maybe he could distract her for a little while. 

“I got into the g-girl’s academy for N-New York City FC, the under 16's team. My f-first game’s next month…He s-said he’d be there.” She said miserably, “Now…now he’ll never be at any again.” Pac gave her a squeeze, inhaling deeply. 

“How old are you?” he asked her quietly. She pulled back from him, wiping at her eyes and curling her knees to her chest. 

“Fifteen.” She answered, sniffing slightly. Pac glanced to his side and reached for the box of tissues beside her bed, handing them over so she could blow her nose and wipe her face. She was younger than he had originally thought. 

“I was a year younger than you when I lost my Dad.” Pac revealed, “We weren’t all that well off, lived in a pretty rough area growing up. He wasn’t anything fancy like a doctor or whatever. They had me young and he was still working on getting his license to practice, he was gonna be a psychiatrist but until then he was working as mailman to make ends meet. He got shot on his morning route when he tried to stop some asshole mugging a woman on her morning run. Police turned up at our door and gave me the dream catcher he hung on his van mirror.” She stared at him, swallowing thickly. He knew she saw it now, the understanding in his eyes, knew she knew that if anyone in this house was qualified to understand her it was him. He only hoped he could help her. 

“Sorry.” She mumbled. Pac shrugged a shoulder. 

“I made my peace with it, and it started with that dream catcher. It hung above my bed as a kid and every time I got into trouble, I used to unload on it, vent my problems at it, and it held ‘em all. I don’t have lots of memories of my Dad but what I do remember is his ability to listen. It was a nice parallel, gave me a piece of him to carry with me.” Pac told her. She looked at him curiously. 

“Where’s it now? Do you still have it?” she wondered. Pac nodded. 

“I do. When I come home, I put it on the mirror in my own vehicle. When I’m deployed, hangs up by my bed.” He told her with a small smile. Looking down at his clenched fist he took a breath and held out his hand to her, revealing the dog tag within his grasp. “I swiped these out of the display case for you…piece of your Dad for you to carry. I may have only known him a year but he was brave and kind, a great leader. That’s gotta be you now Ella, you gotta be brave like your Dad.” Her eyes watered again, shakily taking the dog tags from his hand and running her thumb over the engraving. She placed them around her neck and flinched as the metal settled against her skin. The chill of the metal settled deep in her bones along with the realisation that her father really wasn’t coming home. 

“How do you do it? How do you be brave?” she asked him helplessly. Pac shook his head slightly. She looked so vulnerable still and he knew it would take time for her to fortify herself again, to rebuild her life, a life that didn’t include her father. She was Dunn’s kid though. He could see the same fire in her eyes he’d seen in Dunn’s so many times before, he knew she could make it through the bumps in the road ahead. 

“There’s no one way to be brave Ella. For the first couple of weeks, you’re being brave just by getting out of bed in the morning…the rest just follows, you find your own way of dealing and its trial and error. Some of it’s healthy, some of it’s not, it’s all part of the healing process. Irish wasn’t just saying meaningless words down there. You need any of us to step in and help you out, you call us, okay?” he said. She lunged for him again, but this time he found himself tackled into a hug. Pressing his cheek against her hair he sighed slightly, feeling exhausted and upset. 

“I don’t even know your name.” she realised, looking a little sheepish as she pulled back. Pac chuckled, offering her his hand and shaking it firmly when she grasped his palm. 

“Sergeant Clayton Pakowski, but the team just call me Pac. I came to the barbecue last summer but you were off on a school trip I think.” He told her with a small smirk, “Another soccer match if I remember right.” She shook her head. 

“Gymnastics state competition. They had a last minute change of venue and took us to the opposite side of the state.” She amended, nodding at a blue ribbon on the wall, “Third place for the parallel bars.” 

“Impressive.” Pac complimented. They sat in silence for a while and she fingered the dog tag around her neck, swallowing thickly and looking at the mess around her. 

“Can you help me move my drawers back please?” she asked him softly. Pac nodded, pushing to his feet and giving her shoulder a squeeze. Together they moved the chest of drawers, picked up fallen photographs and ornaments and threw dirty clothing in the laundry basket in the corner of her room. She straightened her bed and let her fingers linger on the picture of her Dad for a moment. Dunn was in his uniform, clearly just home for Christmas since his bag was on the floor by his feet. Her arms were wrapped tight around him and they were both grinning widely. Her room was straightened out and Pac could see the simple act had straightened out her head a little too, but it couldn’t last. She was a tough kid but there was going to be a lot of ups and downs in the months to come.

“I meant it you know. Call us if you need us, any of us. You have our numbers on hand?” Pac asked her. He was probably crossing a line, probably sounded creepy, but she seemed grateful enough to toss him her phone. He plugged his number in quickly, finding Recker’s in her contact list. “No Irish?” he asked curiously. 

“He scares me still.” She confessed. Pac laughed slightly as they headed down stairs. 

“Want to know a secret Ella?” he asked her. She regarded him curiously as they entered the living room again. “He scares me to.” His voice was a mock whisper, eyes shooting a terrified glance at Irish that made her smile weakly at him, the big man doing a bit of a double take between them as he tried to figure out what he’d missed. Maria stared at her daughter worriedly, a mug of tea in her hands and her eyes red rimmed. He noticed the smashed photo frame in the bin and wondered exactly what he’d missed downstairs before deciding he’d ask the others later. Recker had a glass of whisky in his hand, Irish still sitting by Maria with an almost empty mug of coffee in his. 

“You okay baby?” Maria asked her shakily. Her fingers were still trembling. Pac watched Ella touch the dog tag, feeling it through her shirt and drawing what little comfort she could from it.

“No.” she said honestly, sitting by her mother and letting her head drop on her shoulder. A few tears leaked from her eyes as the older woman wrapped her up tight in her arms, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. Recker met his eyes across the room, nodded at him. Whether it was appreciation or being impressed he didn’t know, but Pac felt some of the guilt evaporate under the gaze of Dunn. Every photograph was thanking him for what he’d done for his daughter. Recker and Irish looked equally as relieved that she’d calmed down some. They’d watched the kid grow up and had delivered the worst possible news to her today. Nothing could erase the weight from their shoulders.

“Is there anything you pair need before we leave you in peace?” Irish asked. 

“We can order some dinner in for you.” Pac offered. Maria exhaled slowly. 

“No…no I…I have something I can do, I’m sure.” She sounded completely absent and Pac glanced at Irish and Recker, seeing their concern. Dunn’s wife wasn’t really there, hadn’t been since they’d arrived. Pac knew they’d have told her what happened but he doubted she’d even remember. It was probably better that way. Ella didn’t seem to want to know, but he watched her take a breath and push to her feet, doing exactly as he’d asked and being brave for a brief moment. 

“We’ll get a Chinese in.” Ella said quietly, giving him a small nod. Pac gave her a small smile, fished in his pocket and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. She went to protest but he shook his head, hands held up in an adamant refusal to accept it back. Ella was the one to see them to the door. 

“You need us call us EJ…give your Mom a little time to come around.” Recker suggested lowly, “You okay?” She bit her lip. 

“You know asking me at five-minute intervals doesn’t change how I feel, right?” she asked him wryly. Recker nodded in understanding, apologising quietly and pulling her into a tight hug. Irish came next and she recoiled quickly to give Pac one last bone crushing hug. 

“Look after yourself Ella.” He said softly, “We’ll see you around.” They made sure she’d shut the door before they drove off, Recker at the wheel as Irish stared aimlessly out of the window. 

“That was fucking awful.” He said finally. Recker hummed in agreement and nodded his head. 

“EJ’s doing okay it seems. What did you say to her up there Pac?” Recker asked him, glancing at him through the mirror. Pac shrugged slightly, pulling his beanie back on his head and settling himself back into the seat. He could have sworn Dunn was with them right now. 

“I was just honest with her Reck. I gave her Dunn’s dog tag…tried to give her a way to keep him nearby…she’s a tough kid, she’ll make it through.” He said confidently. Irish and Recker glanced at one another and fell silent. The silence spoke volumes, a mute promise to keep an eye on the family that needed them now, and a quiet vow that they’d never have to make a visit like that for a member of Tombstone again.


End file.
